Fix You
by savedatreez
Summary: 1998: John Winchester and his sons, Dean and Sam, are in on a hunt in Oklahoma. While John lies to the boys about his real business in the town, Dean is charmed by a waitress while Sam battles high school with the help of a new friend, Miranda.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: 1998: John Winchester and his sons, Dean and Sam, are in on a hunt in Oklahoma. While John lies to the boys about his real business in the town, Dean is charmed by a waitress while Sam battles high school with the help of a new friend, Miranda.**

**Rating: Teen for brief language, violence, and suggestion. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters in it. Title name belongs to the band Coldplay.**

**Characters: Sam, Dean, John Winchester, Miranda and Brooke Carrington. **

**Spoilers: None- it just helps to be familiar with the first season of Supernatural and the relationship between Sam/Dean/Papa Winchester.**

Sam Winchester slept soundly in the 1967 Chevy Impala, his soft straight hair fallen in front of his face as he leaned against the window, its cold temperature keeping him comfortable through his slumber. Dean stared out the windshield, gently nodding his head to Led Zeppelin's Kashmir. His bright hazel-green eyes were especially bright as they passed the blinding street lights. He glanced over at his father at the corner of his eye, just curious to how he was holding up. John Winchester had a close call with a pagan god not too long ago, maybe a week, maybe less. Dean lost count of the days because most of them were filled with barren fields and unfamiliar cities. His Dad just turned up the classic rock that Dean grew up on, driving them to God knows where.

John cleared his throat but careful not to wake Sam. He looked over his shoulder briefly, checking on him. John turned back to the road and spoke to Dean in a hushed, deep tone that was commanding but strangely gentle. "Do you know where we are, son?"

Dean looked to his father, answering honestly but with respect. "No sir."

John Winchester nodded silently, expecting this. His sons never said much these days, just staring out the Impala window as he took the scenic route. It was no surprise that Dean had no idea where they were headed. He knew even less about _why_ and John wanted to keep it that way. There was no use in worrying them or raising their hopes. "We're about to cross the border into Oklahoma. I heard there were some Indian spirits. I need you to start work while I take care of things."

Dean didn't protest or ask what the hell 'start work' meant. He only inquired softly, still looking at his father. "What about Sammy?"

"You gotta enroll him into the nearest high school." John replied simply, eyes still glued to the road ahead.

Dean nodded, swallowing and looking out the windshield again. He knew Sam hated being dragged around middle America, having to switch schools every week, trying make new friends, understanding what the class did, staying out of trouble with the teachers and other kids. Everywhere they went they were the new kids, the freaks. It didn't help that he felt like that even after school. Sam was a loner but he was strong. He knew what he wanted and stood up for what he believed was right. Sometimes, this annoyed the shit out of Dean, but it was comforting to know that Sam could take care of himself. Although Sam was perfectly capable, Dean was always there watching his back.

He didn't have the slightest idea what he would do for a job wherever-they-were-going, Oklahoma. Dean guessed he'd find out. Perhaps construction, maybe delivery. All he knew for sure was that he was the only one bringing in the income once they stayed in a town for a little while. Money was always tight because John never worked for profit. If ganking monsters did have a paycheck, hell, they'd be the richest people around. But John did the best he could and Dean saw that. Sam sometimes didn't. John never expressed that this bothered him directly. He would just shout and order his sons around, telling them if they wanted to get revenge for their mother, they would do what he said, whenever he said it.

John sighed, looking over at Dean once more. "Son, get some sleep. The road's gonna still be here when you wake up."

Dean smiled a little, snorting internally. John had made it sound like Dean was actually interested in watching the void of sparse passing car lights and stupid red lights in the darkness, like he hadn't seen it before. "Yeah Dad.." Dean replied instead, settling down into the leather of the Impala seats, breathing in his mobile home. Soon Dean drifted off into a peaceful sleep along with Sam, John driving to their destination through the night all the while.

**Thank you for reading! I will try to update the next chapter as soon as possible :) Reviews, suggestions, comments, critiques are always welcomed and appreciated. **


	2. Chapter 2

Dean and Sam entered the dark musty motel room with their duffel bags. Sam grunted, still slightly sleepy and disoriented from the ride into Oklahoma. Dean shifted his bag to his left hand, using his right to slap around the wall for the light switch. After some difficultly, he finally found it. The yellow light flooded the room from the center of the ceiling, its pathetic illumination only spreading to the area below it and not to the rest of the room to the far left. Dean sighed, throwing his bag on the nearest hotel bed. He looked around at the sixties wallpaper, wooden in table that had one too many cold drinks on its surface- leaving behind bleached rings, the orange and green furniture that looked like it was upholstered in vomit. Yes, they were in Oklahoma alright.

"Home sweet home, Sammy," Dean commented lightheartedly to his brother. Sam curled his lip up in disgust, tossing his bag to the bed next to the one Dean selected.

He trudged to the edge of it, flopping back in angst. "Why couldn't we have gone with Dad?" Samuel whined, gazing up at the water stained ceiling.

Dean rolled his eyes, expecting Sam to say something like this. He walked past Sam's bed, flipping on the bathroom light. It buzzed annoyingly, flickering in and out. "Cuz Dad wanted us to stay here."

Like his older brother, he rolled his eyes. "But _why_? Dad always brings us on his hunts." Sam replied, still staring up blankly.

Dean leaned against the counter, hanging his head as he fixed his eyes on the marble sink. He sighed once more. Sam always questioned their father. Always criticizing his every move and word. It only got worse as he got older. "I don't know why Sammy. I'm sure Dad has a good reason," he spoke to the sink.

Sam sat up quickly, getting angry. "He _always_ has a 'good reason'! What isn't he telling us?!"

Dean whipped his head around, a wave of rage rolling through him from Sam's tone. His eyes burned into his little brother's. "**Sam!** **That's enough!**"

"No Dean! I'm fed up with Dad's crap! He drags us all over America without a word, makes us kill monsters, orders us around like a drill sergeant!" Sam argued, pushing himself off the bed and walking towards Dean. It amazed him how Dean could be perfectly content with being Dad's minion. Dean never complained, never went against what John had said. It was infuriating to be the odd man out against him. John Winchester was a stubborn brick wall that Sam kept butting his head against. Sam theorized that if Dean had a brain cell one, he'd rebel and help Sam break down the infallible barrier. But no, Sam was alone in thinking for himself.

"He's got jobs to do! He needs us to be sharp so we can all get out alive!" Dean reasoned, his tone matching Sam's.

"That's exactly my point, Dean! We shouldn't be in life or death situations like damn normal families! I want to be normal!"

Dean growled, his hazel eyes on fire. "We will **never** be normal Sam! Not when whatever the fuck that monster was that killed **our** mother is still out there!"

Sam shook his head, sighing out of frustration. He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath to calm down, looking to the tacky shag carpet. "I just wanna go home Dean… " Sam admitted softly, his voice small.

Dean closed his eyes in hidden pain, "I know Sam. I know."

Sam looked up at his older brother, expression defeated and lost. Dean lifted his head to meet Sam's gaze. Dean licked his lips and rubbed his neck from behind, "C'mon, Sammy. It's late and we gotta enroll you into school tomorrow. "

Sam groaned, walking away and opening up his duffle bag. He pulled out a t-shirt to sleep in, closing up his carrier and placing it on the carpet at the end of the bed. "Can't wait," he said sarcastically.

Dean snorted, "Oh it can't be that bad," he lied to make Sam feel better. Dean knew how bad high school could be. Hell, he'd just gotten his GED last year. Dean still remembered what it was like.

Sam snarled, his back turned to Dean as he pushed off his jacket and shirt. "Easy for you to say. You can just start work."

Dean nodded, internally chuckling, 'sucks to be you' but just turned on the water, leaning over to wash his face. "Yeah but who knows what that will be. While you're drooling over your hot teacher, I'll be searchin' my ass off."

Sam rolled his eyes. Of course Dean would assume there'd be a hot teacher. "Whatever. You still got the better deal." He unbuttoned his jeans, leaving him in his boxers and laid them on his bag gently, stretching into his new t-shirt. Dean washed his face gently, drying it off with a random towel that he didn't even think was clean. He stopped by the mini refrigerator, just for the fun of it, seeing if the last people who stayed in this room forgot pie.

Dean laughed, pulling out a six pack of beer and showing it to Sam. "Jackpot!"

Sam smirked a bit, "You gonna share?"

Dean gave him a surprised but somewhat amused look, one eyebrow raised. He deliberated for a few moments then thought, what the hell. One beer wouldn't hurt 'im. He pointed a finger at Sam, that hand still clutched onto the six pack. "You tell Dad and I own you."

Sam smiled, "Deal." Dean nodded, unhooking two beers and placing the rest in the refrigerator. He pitched Sam one, popping open one for himself. He chugged it down, as he collapsed on his bed. Dean scooted up against the head board, reaching for the television remote with his free hand. Sam opened his beer, drinking modestly. He smacked his lips, getting used to the taste. Dean noticed this and smirked over at his brother.

"You're such a chick, you know that? You're supposed to chug it."

Sam made a face at Dean, pulling back the covers. "I don't want a hangover my first day of school."

Dean snorted, "Cuz you can't hold it down."

Sam shook his head, settling into bed and taking another swig. He leaned against the headboard like his brother, drinking peacefully into the night to infomercials. A few hours later passed and they both slept soundly, the crickets, beer and television lulling them into a deep sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam Winchester trudged to his first hour after getting his schedule from the counselor that obviously had better things to be doing besides her 'job' and didn't mind letting Sam know that. He sighed after the yellow Chevy truck that Dean had rented, watching it roar away with his brother. Another school, another chance to perhaps do it better than last time. Although Sam tried to keep this thought in mind, that he would start fresh, he still had biases. It didn't matter where he went. There would always be teachers who took their job too seriously, always cruel football jocks, always air-headed cheerleaders, too many druggies, and maybe a psycho or two that might bring a gun. Every high school had those students. Same fucking song, different verse.

He ambled to a far away building, trying to stay out of people's way. The kids here seemed to always travel in groups. Girls and boys would stride in doubles, meeting up with another friend and stopping right in the middle of traffic to hug them. Sam rolled his eyes a bit, moving around the road block of a kissing couple. He began to concentrate on his footsteps instead of the cruel February wind that seemed to pierce through him. Sam looked down, holding his backpack with one hand as it hung on one shoulder casually. _One step, two steps, three steps, four-_

Suddenly, he crashed into a blonde girl who was about two inches taller than he was. She was wearing a button down navy coat, small hoop earrings with her jeans tucked into her black Ugg boots. Sam backed off, a bit flustered and caught off guard by the run in. She met his eyes, sparkling blue to his brown- hazel and smiled slightly in embarrassment. "I'm sorry about that," she apologized softly, nodding to him and walking past him by herself. Sam was about to apologize as well, planning to blame it on himself. His voice caught in his throat as he saw her walk the opposite way, her walk brisk but with purpose.

Sam shrugged, turning back towards the building and walking inside, its warmth welcoming and noticeable from the crisp winter outside. He reached into his jean pocket, pulling out his schedule and unfolding it. He scanned the paper and found the room number to his first class, realizing he was standing in front of him. Samuel strolled in, selecting an empty desk in the back. A sophomore with thick rimmed black glasses turned around in his seat that was next to Sam. "Colorado."

Sam furrowed his brow, turning to face the boy. "What?'

"Colorado." He repeated, his green eyes lively and flitting around Sam's face. "You look like you're from Colorado."

Sam smirked slightly, "Kansas."

"No shit?!" He asked, seemingly genuinely interested.

"No shit." Sam repeated, still smirking, amused.

"God damn it! That was gonna be my first guess but somethin' just told me Colorado.. I'm Zach by the way."

Sam nodded to him, "Sam."

"Well, Sam, what's your story?"

"My story?" Sam asked, in the back of his head thinking _oh God, where do I start…_

"Yeah. Like why are you here? No one shows up in the middle of third nine weeks unless something really bad has happened."

Sam smirked once more, _You have no idea._ "Uh, family business."

"Ah. So your family is in the military or something like that?"

Samuel chuckled, "Something like that."

Zach opened his arms wide animatedly like he was presenting a masterpiece. "Welcome to the glamour and glitz of ACT prep my friend! Where you can sleep all hour and still get an A."

Sam beamed, "Sounds good to me."

Several hours past by in a blur for Sam, the new faces blurring together as one. After ACT prep he went through geometry, English, world history and then lunch completely alone. The only person all day who had welcomed him was Zach. Not that it mattered really, he thought. He'll probably be gone in a week or so. Samuel entered the central building after painfully choking down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, taking a left down a busy corridor to his fifth hour. He opened up one of the double doors to his class, the glass covered in metal for some reason in stripes. Paint covered the handle and wood, signaling he was in the right place.

Sam rounded the corner to see students sitting at high desks and stools. Yet again, he chose the furthest desk from the front of the chalkboard. Sam made his way to the back and noticed an enormous wide window. The window didn't provide the best view but the sun gave the absolute best light. It fell on his soft but developing adolescent features as he stared out, wishing he was anywhere but here… A blonde girl with soft curls that rested one side of her fair face, revealing dainty hoop earrings sat to his right. The earrings caught the sunshine and reflected in his peripheral vision. Sam turned to his right, looking to see what the sharp glistening was.

He smiled a little, recognizing the girl. She was the one he had run into that morning. The girl didn't notice him, concentrating on her sketchbook with remarkable focus. She flicked her wrist fluidly, her eyes scanning over the paper. Sam just watched her for a brief moment, glancing at the drawing. She really had talent.

Miranda felt obvious eyes on her face as she drew, tensing slightly. From the corner of her eye, she recognized a strange familiar figure. She lifted up her head slowly, her blue eyes meeting brown- hazel. Sam smiled a little at her surprised doe eyed expression. "Uh sorry. I was just looking at your drawing. That's really good."

Miranda smiled feigned a shy smile, flashing her white teeth for a second. "Thank you.."

"I'm Sam. I think I ran into you this morning."

Miranda nodded, smiling again and nodding. "Yes, I remember. I'm Miranda Carrington. Nice to meet you Sam," she introduced herself politely.

"Nice to meet you Miranda." He nodded in return, shifting in his stool to face the chalk board instead of the window behind him.

She bit her pink lips vaguely, "You're not from around are you?" Miranda asked gently, her soft blonde curls falling out of her face as she leaned on the desk with her elbow.

"Not really. Just passing through." He answered honestly but didn't tell her much through the statement.

"Just passing through?'

"Yeah, family business." He answered simply, looking at Miranda, his shaggy brown hair brushing his long eyelashes.

Miranda nodded, understanding. "Well, good luck with that," she smiled.

Sam smirked, nodding as well. "So, you like art I'm guessing?" he asked to start up a conversation.

"Yes sir, very much." She prompted, closing her sketchbook and placing it in her messenger bag for later. Miranda found she'd rather talk with Sam than draw at the moment. He seemed very mysterious with the way he carried himself.

He nodded, "I can see that. You got more artistic talent in one finger than I have in my whole body."

Miranda laughed melodically, "Well I appreciate that but I'm sure you've got more than you give yourself credit for. I just need to prove it to you."

He raised an eyebrow, smirking coyly, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," she said with the same expression, eyes twinkling. "Follow me." Miranda hopped off her painted stool with grace, turned around and nodding her head forward over her shoulder to him. Sam smirked, following her lead. Miranda took him to a small storage room in the back of a row of cabinets, a secluded area compared to the main art room. She flipped on the light, letting it flood the room to reveal a gigantic piece of canvas with a psychedelic theme, its colors neon and bright. Sam took the painting in, his mouth parted in amazement.

He took a step toward it, brushing his calloused fingers over its texture. "You did this?"

Miranda nodded, standing beside him and looking it over like a critique. "I could use some help finishing it.."

Sam gawked, glancing at her, "You want me to help you paint _this?"_

"I asked you didn't I?" She replied with attitude but friendliness. "You need to have more faith in what you do, Sam. I wouldn't ask anything of you that I know you couldn't do."

Sam smiled, "But you just met me. I could be terrible for all you know."

"You're not. I can tell. And if you are and I'm wrong? So what. The point is I trust you," she smiled.

Sam exhaled deeply, "Well okay. Just tell me where you need me."

Miranda nodded firmly, "Will do Sammy. Will do."


	4. Chapter 4

Dean huffed, frustrated with the day's events as he walked up to Butch's Bar and Grill after parking the rental yellow 1985 Chevy truck. He had woken up and had to practically pry Sam out of bed. Once he finally got Sammy up, he ran down to the nearest fast food restaurant that served breakfast and brought back something for the both of them. Sam could maybe focus on an empty stomach but Dean sure as hell couldn't. He slapped the greasy pancake wrap down on the wooden table with one too many cup rings in it, telling Sammy to eat up. Sam had looked at it with distaste but obeyed his brother, biting into it hesitantly. After one bite he fled to the bathroom, hurling it up along with the beer he had ingested the night before. Dean groaned and held back Sam's floppy straight hair, mumbling, "I knew it was too damn good to be true. You always blow chow.."

After Sam recovered, he drove him to his new high school for the millionth time it seemed like. Following that he had started from the beginning of the city to the end in search of work. Everywhere he looked, no one was hiring. He literally begged a painter to help him hook him up with a job. No dice. He raked his fingers through his tan spiked hair, strolling into the bar. He was in need of a hard drink, no mind that he was only nineteen- he always looked older than he really was and always had fake IDs on him. Dad would be absolutely pissed to find out he wasn't bringing in any income. It was his responsibility for now and if it didn't get done… Well, that wasn't an option. Failure wasn't ever, ever an option for a Winchester. John never lost an innocent against an evil sonofabitch, Sam never got anything less than an A, and Dean never neglected what was asked of him by his father.

He sat roughly down at the bar, scowling forward, his shoulders hunched forward while his elbows rested on the counter, brooding. Dean exhaled, thinking hard about what he would do. Then a tall blonde waitress passed behind him with an empty plate, her long soft curls bouncing and giving off the most heavenly smell. Dean couldn't help but turn around. He had only caught her backside, which was perfectly alright with him. He smirked, watching her move around the counter then in front of him. She laid her long fair fingers on the bar, leaning forward, and cleavage clearly visible out of her 'Butch's Bar and Grill' black employee rigged up t-shirt.

"What can I get cha?" She asked in a friendly tone.

A smile played on his succulent lips, "I can think of a few things…"

The waitress smirked back, tensing her jaw to show mild disapproval. This was not the first average Joe who had hit on her. "Just don't order off the menu sweetie."

Dean chuckled. She was good. "Well in that case I'll just have the steak luncheon with some scotch."

She nodded, "Lemme see some ID."

Dean nodded as well pulling out his wallet, tossing her a decoy ID with his picture that stated he was Robert Plant of twenty one years in laminated writing.

The waitress looked over his ID thoroughly, making Dean a bit antsy. She finally gave it back to him, raising an eyebrow, "Robert Plant? Your parents Led Zeppelin fans?"

"The biggest," he agreed, smiling charmingly.

Brooke inspected what she saw of 'Robert Plant'. Something in her gut told her Robert wasn't who he claimed to be. One thing she always knew about the kind of job her family was in was to always trust your gut. He was smug and sly with a snake like charming smile that made her heart beat fast but she knew better. For all she knew, he could be a demon. Probably. Brooke nodded politely, "Be right back," she told him, walking to the kitchen to give his order to the chef. She also made a mental note to slip a bit of holy water in his scotch…

After the waitress had looked away, he furrowed his brow, wondering why in the hell she was so suspicious of him. Not even cops looked that hard at his fake IDs. She knew something alright. Dean shook it off, his eyes falling at the liquor bottles behind the counter. That's when he had an idea.. Why not work here? They had hot employees, all the booze you could ever want and probably the best smelling barbecue he'd been around for years. Brooke rounded the corner where Dean couldn't see her, picking a blind spot from where he was sitting. She opened up her small silver flask, dropping in some holy water into the scotch. Brooke returned the flask to her back pocket, walking around the corner and presenting the plate to Dean, setting it on the counter along with the diluted scotch.

Dean nodded to her in thanks, digging in immediately. "Is this joint hiring by any chance?" He took a swig from his drink, not noticing the water. Brooke watched intently, finally letting out her breath once he didn't flip out into a black-eyed bastard.

"Yeah. Need a job?" She asked coolly, cocking her hip and placing a hand on it.

"Sure do. What do you have?"

She smirked, "Bus boy."

Dean gawked a bit, "I beg your pardon?"

Brooke beamed, "You heard me."

"Not waiter, or bartender?"

"No sir. Butch likes females to do the waitressing. It brings in male visitors such as yourself and Randy is already the bartender. Take the bus boy position or leave it."

Dean grimaced, feeling himself swallow his pride. _Shit.._ "Fine. I'll take it."

Brooke grinned victoriously, "Fabulous. No interview necessary."

Dean smirked a little, "No offense darling but you're just a waitress. Don't I need to talk to someone in management?"

Brooke reached into her front pocket of her jeans, pinning on a 'manager' tag. "Any more questions 'darling'?"

Dean nodded, licking his lips. "Well okay then. Thanks for the job." _I guess.._ He began to eat again, enjoying the steak but still a bit ticked about being the new bus boy. But hey, desperate times, desperate measures. He had to take what he could get. "Uh, what do I call you Boss?"

Brooke turned away, wiping down the back bar. "Brooke Carrington. Not boss."

"Works for me," he muttered under his breath.

"You start tomorrow at nine, get off at five. Got it?"

Dean nodded, drinking down the scotch. He watched his new manager stroll away, her curvy hips swaying with every step. Maybe working here wouldn't be so bad if he got to stare at that ass every day. Dean licked his lips, his thoughts wandering to his brother, hoping his first day was better than the one he had.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam found himself actually excited for class as he entered his fifth hour, backpack on one shoulder and thumb supporting his hand on the strap. He took one casual step after the other, his sneakers and jeans brushing against the linoleum silently. It was his second day in his new high school and it was going pretty well. Of course Zach was right about ACT prep, you really could sleep all hour and still make an A. Even though he didn't sleep, he still went on autopilot like many mornings before and aced the Algebra II portion of the test, a mathematics class he knew nothing about yet. He breezed through the rest of the day… He chuckled, thinking about Dean then.

Dean had picked Sam up after school yesterday from the back, a sour look stuck on his face as he palmed the steering wheel, reversing. Sam asked if he had found any work and Dean grumbled he didn't want to talk about it. Five minutes later on the way back to the motel, Dean had admitted grudgingly that he got a job as a bus boy. Sam got a good laugh out of that one. Dean snarled and threatened to string his nuts to his ears like earrings, one of the classics. Dean groaned about his 'insanely hot' manager and how she has it out for him. "It's like she spills drinks and encourages the punk-ass teenagers to throw food in the eatery on purpose," he complained as Sam noticed a piece of carrot stuck in his hair but decided not to tell him.

Sam shook his head as he rounded the corner, still smiling to himself. Miranda was standing in front of him out of nowhere, holding several paint brushes to clean off in the sink room. Sam almost ran into her again but just stopped immediately like a deer in headlights. Miranda grinned her brilliant smile that secretly made Sam's heart flutter. "Hey Sam. You look like you're having a good day," she commented cheerfully, flitting past him and into the sink room. Sam smiled to himself, wondering how one person could be so friendly but also so polite. He dropped his bag off at his desk next to Miranda's, turning back and following her.

Miranda was singing to herself when he entered, swaying her hips to her own lively melody, using her paint brushes like a microphone. "So brown eyes I hold you near~ 'Cause you're the only song I want to hear~ A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere~" Sam smirked behind her, watching quietly. Miranda turned around and jumped, "Sam!"

He began to laugh, his face turning a bit red. Miranda blushed crimson, turning back to continue cleaning out the brushes. Sam sighed, standing beside her and taking a brush, helping her. "Impressive," he said, smiling still.

Miranda shoved him gently, smiling, "Shuttup. When I'm in my zone I'm not very aware."

He chuckled, "Yeah. I can see that."

Miranda rolled her eyes, shaking out the water from the brushes and pressing them into a dry towel. Sam followed suit, his brown hazel eyes looking at her as she concentrated on her own hands. Her focus and motivation amazed him. She was always working but made time for other people. Miranda felt his eyes on her but she didn't say a word, merely trashing the damp paper towel and looking him head on. "Ready to get started today?"

"Sure," he answered, handing her the brushes.

Miranda pushed his hand back gently, "You're going to need those."

"Oh right." He brought his hand back shyly, nodding toward the entryway. "After you."

She smiled warmly, strolling forward and making her way to the back of the art room where the massive canvas was. "So what makes this day so special, Sam?" Miranda asked, glancing over her shoulder as she flipped on the light.

"What?" He asked, not understanding.

"You were smiling when you came in. I haven't seen you smile like that before." She stated, grabbing a turquoise paint bottle from the small table in the corner, shaking it but still looking at him for an answer. Miranda watched him intently, genuinely interested in what he had to say. Sam was quiet, mysterious and very sweet. He wasn't like most guys she's met. She was excited to hear any information about himself he was willing to give.

"Oh right.. Uh well, I was thinking about my older brother." Sam explained.

"Oh yeah?" Miranda asked, pouring some paint out in a cup and handing it to Sam. "What's he like?"

Sam smiled instantly, "Uh, he's a character."

Miranda nodded, "You got any more siblings?"

Sam picked a spot on the canvas, dipping his paint brush in the turquoise and gently laying it on. "Nope. It's just Dean and me.."

Miranda poured some violet out next, nodding, "Yeah. I have an older sister too. She's a lot like my Dad. Always ordering me around.."

Sam smiled, "You and me both. Dean and my dad just love to gang up on me."

Miranda dipped her brush in the creamy purple liquid, painting beside Sam now. "I'm sorry to hear that. But I've been there. You know what I think when I'm really angry at them?"

"What?"

"I just remember that they're my family. That all they want is the best for me and no matter what I do, I can always come home to them, ya know?"

Sam nodded, wishing he could borrow her optimism for just a week. Maybe slaying vampires, werewolves, ghosts and the like wouldn't be so bad anymore.

"I mean," Miranda continued, "I love them too but I feel like I'm always out of the loop. Like they have this grand secret that they're not letting me in on."

Sam huffed darkly, "Story of my life."

Miranda frowned, suddenly taking her intense blue eyes off her painting and to Sam. "Why so cynical, Sam?"

Sam was about to deny this but then exhaled, realizing there was no use. She would just call him out on it. ".. Things have been rough since.. Ever."

"Well one thing I do know is there a light at the end of the tunnel. Everything happens for a reason and there's nothing you can't fix." Miranda turned away, setting down her brush to switch to another color. She picked up a yellow, unscrewing the lid and struggling with the seal. Miranda used the sharp end of the scissors to punch a hole in the seal since her nails wouldn't do.

"You'd be surprised what things you can make possible by just the simplest words like, 'I'm sorry' or 'I love you' or 'you're doing the best you can do and I understand now' will do.." She wiped the scissors on her palm to remove the paint and while doing so slicing the flesh. "Ouch.."

Sam heard her and dropped what he was doing, walking over to her with a concerned expression. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just cut myself a little.." Miranda said, looking down like she was embarrassed. Sam furrowed his brow, taking off his tan hunting jacket and laying it to the side. He ripped a piece of his shirt, taking her palm and pressing the monotone fabric to it. Miranda looked up at him and smiled a little, deep down enjoying his touch.

"How can you be so sure?" He asked softly looking into her eyes. "How can you be so sure that everything can be fixed?"

"Trust me and have faith. Everything will turn out." She replied, her face inches from his.

Sam nodded, just staring at her heavenly features solemnly, holding her hand with his shirt still pressed to her bleeding palm.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean wiped down the ebony table, wearing a black Butch's Bar and Grill t-shirt and extra towel draped over his shoulder, sweating bullets. He snarled, hating his job. He would've been fine with just about anything. But he was stuck with the one of the most degrading jobs you could give someone. He bent over the table, trying to reach the far edges with a grunt. The tables were long and round, making it extremely hard to maneuver over. Soon he would start mopping the floors. Oh joy. Brooke had gone ballistic on him that morning. The owner, Butch, and his wife had come in that morning and Dean was just trying to be friendly. Even though Brooke was his boss, he knew Butch was the fat cat in that joint. If he wanted his job to suck less, he better impress him. What better way to do that by making him laugh? Oh, Butch enjoyed his jokes but his wife didn't seem to appreciate them very much… Now he was scrubbing the bar head to toe under his warden's careful watch. She was super pissed and genuinely looked like she was thinking about repainting the walls with his blood.

Brooke leaned over the bar, smirking masochistically as she watched the man she thought was named Robert with a smirk. He did have a fine ass but his mouth just about cost her job. Rob was the type of guy who squirmed in his pants with either perverted, porn inspired excitement or resentment that there was a woman who was charge of him. But now, she was sure he wouldn't want in her pants anytime soon. Not when she was through with him. Brooke had various insulting chores set up for him and would even make him close up for the night, making sure he didn't leave until about nine o' clock. Right now, he was cleaning the grime off the edges of the tables which was completely unnecessary but he didn't know that.

Early that morning, Butch- _the_ Butch of Butch's Bar and Grill walked in with his wife Vanessa. Brooke really liked Butch and he enjoyed her. In fact, it was their friendship that had gotten her the management gig. Vanessa was obviously jealous of this so she had tried countless times on trying to get Brooke fired. This morning was no different than the other times Vanessa came to her husband's work. She had made some nasty comments on the 'uniform' of low riding, skin tight jeans and rigged up t-shirt Coyote Ugly style. Brooke couldn't care less. If it was in the rule book, which it was, and it brought in customers, which it did, it didn't matter. But even though it didn't matter, it still didn't make dealing with Vanessa any easier. Rob kept running his mouth, blabbing about how hot the waitresses were. He even made a tasteless comment about taking one in the storage room to 'discuss some business'. Of course he didn't listen to her "I'll kill you if you say another word" body language or glares. Vanessa turned a bit green and went straight to Butch. Her friendship was good with Butch, but when it came to the possibility of his employees screwing one another around the food, there was no competition.

Dean sighed, popping his neck in various places with just one slight movement. _That's gonna hurt in the morning.._ Abruptly, his cell phone sang out Def Leppard's Foolin'. Brooke raised an eyebrow in disapproval, venom in her gaze. "Don't you even think about answering that," she hissed.

Dean's jaw tensed as he looked at the caller ID. It was Sam so it must be important. He never calls in the middle of the day like this. He glanced up at the retro clock on the wall, reading 12:46. Sam must be in lunch but there was definitely a legitimate reason. Dean locked eyes with Brooke, "Oh come on! It's my brother!"

Brooke cocked her hip, "So? You're in deep shit. What makes you think I'll let you answer that?"

"Please.. Something could be wrong. I need to take this call."

Brooke locked her jaw in a scowl, her eyes narrowed and hard. After a second of deliberation, she grudgingly replied, "Fine. Make it quick."

Dean flipped open his phone on the last ring, "Hello?" He asked, walking away from his table, nodding to Brooke in thanks, making his way to the storage room for privacy.

"You're not going to believe this but there's something in my high school, Dean."

"What?!" Dean asked, closing the storage room door.

"Yeah. God! This is so fucked up!" Sam vented angrily, holding ice to his head on the other end of the call, standing in the bathroom in the nurse's office.

"Calm down, Sammy. Tell me what happened."

"Well I was walking to the men's room after fourth hour. The bathroom was abandoned and apparently the school is gonna remodel it because nothing worked. I was just about to leave until I saw something lying out from under a stall. I went over to check it out and I saw this girl dead. The guy had his back turned and when I asked him what happened here, he turned around! It was Zach! Once I took a step back he knocked me out cold!"

"Whoa there- who's Zach?" Dean asked, confused.

"He's my friend. He and I are in first period together."

"Okay.. So you're saying your friend killed a kid?"

"Yes Dean! And he had white eyes!"

"Oh shitshitshitshitSHIT!"

"What Dean?! What's wrong?!"

"..He's a shape shifter, Sammy.."

Sam swallowed hard, "So what does that mean? I've never seen one of those Dean."

"You were too young to remember when Dad and I killed one in New Orleans.. This is not good Sammy. It could be anyone. How many kids do you have at your school?"

"Uh about nine hundred I think."

"Then the son of a bitch had nine hundred faces to choose from. Keep silver on you at all times. The moment you see the bastard flash its eyes, gank it right then and there. Got me?"

"Yeah but-"

"No buts. This thing is sneaky and smart. It will strike when you least expect it. You see a chance, you take it. No questions ask-"

"ROBERT! OFF THE PHONE NOW!" Brooke yelled and pounded on the door, actually sending painful vibrations into Dean's skull.

"FUCK! GODDAMMIT!" Dean growled, holding his head with his head in pain.

"Who was that?" Sam asked, holding the phone away from his ear, Dean's cursing deafening.

"Satan my manager. I gotta go. We'll talk about this later." Dean flipped his phone closed, flinging open the storage door. "WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM!?"

"YOU!" She got into his face. "Do you want to keep your job, ROBERT!?"

Dean narrowed his eyes, "Yes," he hissed.

She clenched her teeth together, speaking through them, her face even closer than before. "Then. Act. Like. It. One. More. Mistake. And. You're. History. You. Almost. Cost. Me. My. Job. And. I. Can't. Risk. That. For. A. Dumbass. Like. You."

Dean smirked a bit, just focused on her closeness and not her words. He kissed her unexpectantly, wrapping his strong arms around her waist. Brooke gasped but started to kiss him back. She enjoyed it for about a second, and then remembered herself. She shoved Dean off of her, "If you can kiss me then you can kiss this week's check goodbye."

He rolled his eyes, "You can't do that."

"I call boss card. I can, honey, and you just dug yourself further into your grave. " She tossed him the key to the door, "You're locking up tonight." Brooke turned out briskly, smirking a bit, still licking his sweet taste off her lips.


	7. Chapter 7

Miranda Carrington walked slowly under the midnight moon, her delicate pale hands in the pockets of her button up jacket. The February night was cruel but it was the coldness that made this the best time to walk. The air was clean and fresh, moisture cooling but still uninviting to anyone or anything of danger. Neither people nor animals ventured out in this weather. She gazed up at the thousands of stars above her head, thinking about Sam then. He had literally crashed into her on a Monday and had her spellbound ever since. He wasn't in art that afternoon.

Miranda loved puzzles and Sam was the most difficult one yet. Although it was daunting, she never backed down from a challenge. Sam was her friend, so why couldn't they know about one another? Hell, he knew all about her. From just a few days of painting, she had spilled her life story. She blushed to herself, looking back on it. It was really pathetic. Was she so starved for someone to listen to her that she would just blurt out everything? Thank God Sam was such a good guy because Miranda sincerely wondered if just anyone spent time with her for just one hour each school day, if they too would know her inside and out because her big mouth. Sam was always respectable and quiet though, but strong. He would always listen to her, no matter how involved her stories became. Foolish it may be, she really felt like he cared, which was something more appreciated than he would ever know.

Her Ugg boots crunched the asphalt, the sound echoing in the night. She smiled to herself a little, thinking of her older sister Brooke. She would kill her if she knew where she was. Luckily, she was at work. Brooke had been on edge for several days more than usual and they hadn't heard from their dad in a solid week. Truck driving is probably one of the most boring professions. Why wouldn't he call? Something wasn't off just at home, but at school. Yesterday there had been a murder in the abandoned north restroom. At first Miranda thought it was a rumor until she saw the stretcher carry away Molly Singer… The whole recent situation was very strange.

She stared forward, focusing toward the end of the road thirty miles ahead. Suddenly, she heard footsteps step into time with hers. Miranda furrowed her brow but kept walking, not looking back. The footsteps didn't turn the other way, slow or speed up. They where stalking her. Miranda listened for several more minutes before jumping to any conclusions. Maybe they are taking the same route as me, she told herself. Suddenly, they quickened their pace. She panicked a bit but maintained her composure, still walking forward but slipping her house key through her fingers, hand curled in a fist. They cat called and whistled, their comments making her squirm.

"Hey baby! Why don't you slow down a bit and give us a slow-mo of that sweet ass of yours!" One called, laughing.

"Yeah honey. I bet you would enjoy us!"

"She looks like a screamer!"

Miranda growled, having heard enough. She whipped around, scowling. "Screw off!"

They laughed, punching one another in a 'get-a-load-of-that' manner like they were Great Danes and she was the impudent but amusing lapdog. "OOoooh I'm so scared!" The boys mocked, circling her. Miranda threw her body into a punch but the taller boy caught her first easily, chuckling.

"Well look here! She was gonna was shank us!." He gripped his large fingers over hers, crushing her delicate fist. She grimaced, her bones creaking under his pressure.

"Looks like we need to teach her some manners." Another boy stepped up closer to her, slipping his arm around her waist, picking her up off the ground and using one free hand to grope up her chest. "Rude bitch. You don't punch someone with your keys the moment you meet them."

Miranda struggled against his iron grip, trying to kick him and release his vile hand. _**"LET ME GO!!!" **_ She screamed at the top of her lungs, trying to attract some attention so perhaps help might hear her cries.

The tall boy wound up his fist about to give Miranda a black eye. She was making a scene and surely they would be caught. He nodded to his friend who was holding Miranda, gesturing to the side to take her into the cluster of tress until a mysterious figure approached. The dark figure chucked the tall boy in the back of the head, knocking him out. The figure stood before Miranda and the other boy, face hidden in the darkness. Suddenly, he flipped out a switch blade, holding it to the boy's throat. Miranda gasped, body tensed and afraid. "Please.. Help me!"

A familiar voice growled, "Let her go right now." The boy gulped, the cool blade making his skin itch. He let Miranda drop into the dirt, breathing heavy and shaking. The boy dashed away, leaving his unconscious friend. Miranda heaved, staring down at her hands, clutching the dirt. The figure sighed in disapproval, flipping his switchblade back into itself and returning it back in his pocket. He knelt down, putting a comforting hand on Miranda's back. She flinched away, standing up and moving away from him. "Who are you?!" Miranda strained her eyes to see her rescuer.

The figure moved backwards, letting a street light illuminate his features. Sam huffed, swallowing before greeting Miranda, "Hey."

"_Sam_?!"

Sam smiled, "Let's get going."

Miranda beamed, jogging excitedly over to him. She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him warmly. "Thank you so much Sam. Thank you so much.."

He beamed, pleasantly surprised from her embrace. He secretly shifted his head so he could breathe in the smell of her hair. "Uh, you're welcome."

Miranda pulled away, eyes twinkling from the streetlight. Sam smiled back, humble. She began to walk a bit, following the path she took before being assaulted. Sam joined her, putting his hands in his pockets like her. She smiled over at him, her blonde hair falling in her face. "Oh my gosh.. Where did you learn to do that?!"

Sam internally grimaced, hating having to lie to her. "Uh, my Dad."

"Wow. Go Dad! That was amazing.." She mused.

"I guess," Sam murmured. "Didn't you tell me your Dad and sister knew some self defense?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "But I conveniently never learned any. I assure you though; I will seek some classes after this ordeal. That was pretty lucky of you to show up."

"I wish I could've gotten to you sooner," Sam admitted, kicking himself. He stopped abruptly, looking her in the eyes. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

She smiled a little, "I'm fine, Sam. I'm still a bit shaken up but they didn't hurt me."

Sam nodded, searching her face and her body just to make sure she wasn't just putting on bravado. Miranda rolled her eyes, noticing this. "Sam- I'm really okay. I'm no Chuck Norris but I'm not broken in pieces like a doll."

Sam smirked a bit, taking a step to start walking again. He didn't reply, just making a mental connection of the irony. He wondered if Dean felt like this when he got a scratch or a kid at school would try to play rough. But Miranda was different. She wasn't his sister. She was a really good friend. "Uh, you wouldn't mind me asking you why you were outside at this hour in the first place?"

Miranda laughed a little, "This is gonna sound really stupid but I just had to _get out_. The night sorts out my mind, helps me think."

Sam shook his head, "That's not stupid at all."

Miranda shrugged, "My sister would completely loose her marbles if she knew anything about this. Dad too."

He furrowed his brow, "Where's your mom?"

"She passed away when I was six months old. Dad says she had a heart attack."

"Ohh.." Sam muttered, "I'm sorry." He clenched his jaw in pain, thinking of his own mother.

"It's okay. I honestly don't know what I'm missing but yeah, that still doesn't make growing up without her any easier."

Sam closed his eyes, _I can relate.._

Miranda caught his expression of anguish and frowned, "..Are you okay Sam?"

He nodded, clearing his throat, trying to play it off. "Oh yeah. I just lost my mom too. I know where you're coming from."

"Well- at least we have our older siblings and fathers. Sounds to me like our families are mirrored. You have an older brother, I have an older sister. My Dad is mostly absent- well, I don't know about yours."

Sam snorted a little, "No, you're right. Mine is too."

"I'm sorry to hear that.. Mine is just gone on business. Truck driver, ya know?"

Sam nodded again, "Yeah. Business on my side too."

"Really? What does he do?"

"It's hard to explain. He's just gone a lot." Sam skipped around the truth, hoping she didn't press further.

Miranda licked her lips, looking ahead. Boldly, she replied, "I can see through you, you know."

Sam gawked a bit, stopping in his tracks. "Excuse me?"

She stopped as well. "Sam- it's okay. But I want you to know that I know. You've got some things you want to keep to yourself- fine, but just don't feed me a line and reel it back in. If you're going to tell me, tell me. Otherwise, don't even mention it."

Sam thought about her words, opening his mouth to reply before she cut him off.

"- You're a really nice guy and I want to be honest with you. Because that's what friends do."

He nodded, "Thank you Miranda. I want to tell you but I can't. I really wish I could. I hope you'll understand." He smiled sadly, his brown-hazel eyes searching hers.

"Of course.." Miranda slipped her hand into his comfortingly. "But if you find that you want to talk, you know where to find me."

Sam nodded, leaving his hand in hers, his heart beating rapidly. Miranda stopped walking after a few minutes. "Well, this is it," she gestured behind her to a quaint but old house.

He let her hand go, brushing a blonde curl and placing it behind her ear gently. Miranda blushed, blue eyes twinkling. She wanted to kiss him then but stopped herself, leaning into hug him instead. Sam leaned into hug her as well but took matters into his own hands, taking a chance and kissing her on the cheek. Miranda beamed, her heart fluttering out of her chest and up her throat it seemed. Sam blushed as well, moving back. "Goodnight." He turned away, walking back down the street and into the night, heading back to the motel.


	8. Chapter 8

Miranda entered her house with a silly grin on face, still blushing from the kiss. She felt like she was on top of the world, her heart beating fiercely and stomach threatening to fly out of her throat. Miranda closed the front door quietly, listening intently for Brooke. If her sister was home, she would be kibble. She smirked to herself, hearing nothing but her own heart pounding in her ears. She was safe and got away with her midnight stroll. She didn't bother with the lights in the house, just walking lightly to her room in the dark around the corner.

She closed her door then, opening her closet. Miranda popped her neck, bending over and slipping out of her Ugg boots. Next she took off her coat, shirt and jeans, tossing them in the white hamper. She hummed to herself, stepping forward and tripping over her boots clumsily. Miranda fell on her chest directly, feeling a sharp convulsion of pain on her chest. Miranda grimaced after crying out, gripping her carpet as the wave of affliction coursed through her body. Wincing, she moaned, letting it move through her. The pain faded slowly and she was able to stand up. Cautiously, she moved to her immaculate circle mirror.

Miranda Carrington walked up to her reflection, sparkling pools of blue staring back at her. Her blonde curls shone still in her dim lamp light. She looked over her body briefly, only wearing her navy bra and black low-rise panties. She caught something askew on her body hiding behind her left bra cup. Miranda unhooked her bra, letting it fall off of her with a hush, reckoning it was what had caused her so much agony from her fall. Instantly a blue and purple bruise in a blurred hand print covered her breast. She held it carefully, surveying the damage to her humble curve. Those boys were brutal. No telling what else what would've happened if Sam hadn't shown up…

A bright car beam flashed across her blinds in sliced illumination. Miranda cursed to herself, throwing on her bra and pajamas. Brooke was home and she couldn't know anything about her little sister's later events. Outside, Brooke parked her truck, walking through the door without a sound, assuming Miranda was asleep. She flipped on the kitchen light, getting out a red plastic cup and filling it with water. She took a deep drink, licking her lips and leaning on the counter. It had been a hard, busy night at Butch's Bar and Grill. Robert Plant had maintained his distance but she still caught him staring at her backside time to time. He was an honest worker though, and that was hard to come by these days.

Brooke set her water to the side, heading towards Miranda's room. Miranda heard her sister's footsteps and leapt into bed, settling in quickly and closing her eyes to fake sleep. Her older sister pushed Miranda's door open softly, smiling at her 'sleeping' sibling. Brooke sat down on her bed gently, brushing her hair off of her forehead lovingly, kissing the skin there and whispering, "I love you Miranda. Goodnight." Miranda smiled internally at her sister's gesture of affection. Brooke never said those three words when she knew Miranda was conscious so it was nice to hear her say it out loud, not just imply it as an inevitable unspoken thing.

Her older sister flipped off her lamp and exited, latching the door after herself. She made her way to the kitchen when her phone buzzed in her front pocket. Brooke furrowed her brow, wondering why anyone would want to talk to her after midnight. She didn't bother looking at the caller ID, prepared to tell the person on the other end they had the wrong number. "Hello?" She asked politely, raking a hand through her thick blonde curls.

"Heya sweet'art," a familiar deep voice said.

Brooke beamed, "Hi Dad."

Joel Carrington sighed, "It's good to hear from you again baby gurl."

"Likewise Dad."

Joel exhaled once more like many times before when he was about to tell his daughters something of importance. "I'm sorry I haven't called for awhile but trust me, this is a deeper job than I guessed."

Brooke bit her lip and frowned, holding the phone to her ear closely. She pulled out a kitchen chair, sitting in it while asking, "What's wrong Dad?"

"I'm in Broken Arrow right now… Tracking down the thing that killed your mother."

She gulped, "..Come again?"

"It's true Brooke. I was headin' for Tulsa then Broken Arrow lit up like a Christmas tree with demon omens. I'm almost positive I'm close to it."

Brooke nodded to herself, feeling a mixture of hope and worry. Miranda and Brooke's mother had been murdered in a nursery fire six months after Miranda was born. It was tragic and unbelievably frustrating. Their father, Joel, was a secret hunter at the time and was away from home on 'business' when Kimberly was burnt to a cinder. It was Brooke who had saved Miranda from the monstrous fire, fleeing into the night to leave their burning home..

Ever since, Joel had sworn to himself that he would avenge his wife's death. The only reason why Brooke ever knew the truth about his real job was because of the circumstances. How would you explain to your daughter that what she saw wasn't real? That her mother screaming on the ceiling was just 'her imagination'. No. He had to tell her the truth. It was only Miranda who had no idea. Joel and Brooke had no intention of telling her either. She had a chance to get out. She was intelligent, kind and.. _Innocent._

"Are you alone?"

"No sugar. I've teamed up with another hunter this time. Name's Winchester."

"Okay Dad." She answered simply, completely unaware that the so-called Robert Plant was really John Winchester's oldest son. "But I have something to tell you too."

"What's that?"

"There's a shapeshifter in Miranda's high school." She said, recalling the front page of the newspaper she saw first thing in the morning.

'Teen killed by classmate in high school bathroom' the headline said, mentioning the classmate, Zach Fern, claimed that he did absolutely nothing. Zach said he was in Humanities at the time and there was no way he could've murdered the girl, Molly Singer. Still, if the shoe fits- have fun in juvie, kid. Out of curiosity, she left Butch's on her lunch break, stopping by the house and dressing in some FBI gear, going up to the school. They didn't have much to offer, but she did come across someone with a lead. There was one eye witness, a stoner who was skipping class, having seen the whole thing.

The stoner had sworn he was just on a bad trip but Brooke pressed on, determined. He said Zach had brought Molly to the bathroom, intending to 'get some'. They didn't very far, Zach strangling her. The stoner, Seth, was crouched in the corner so Zach couldn't see him. He had also uttered that Zach had white eyes. Seth explained that Zach was just about to leave until 'some puny kid' opened the stall to find Zach and Molly. Zach knocked the boy out and fled, escaping through the ceiling vents.

Joel cursed under his breath,"Well, you know the drill.."

"Yes sir. Get up to the school, scope it out, silver bullet or knife straight to the heart."

"You got it. Keep our baby safe, hon," he said lovingly.

"Absolutely Dad. I won't let Miranda out of my sight and I'll take care of it tomorrow. You be safe too. Remember that."

Joel chuckled, "I swear hunny, you're the one raising yer old man. But hey- I gotta go."

"Kay Dad. Come home in one piece." Brooke answered, hearing her father hang up on the other end. Brooke prayed this would be it. That finally, their search for revenge would be over.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam Winchester pushed open the heavy art room doors quietly, glancing over his shoulder and clearing a safe way in his mind. He thought it was peculiar that Miranda had asked him to meet him at the art room on a Saturday evening but nevertheless, he came. He swallowed, feeling somewhat of a sinking aura of eeriness as he entered. He knew by now that the sensation came from his gut and wasn't meant to be ignored. He was a hunter and his life or someone else's could depend on his intuition. John had taught Sam and Dean to trust themselves, trust their intelligence and attention to detail. Most of all, trust their instinct. Sam flipped out his silver switchblade, hiding the knife under his sleeve, peeking around the corner. There was a rustle behind the cabinet and Sam's ears perked up immediately, his hearing focusing in on the noise like a microscope.

_Shuffle, shuffle, scuff. Scuttle, Scuttle, scoot. _

Sam walked vigilantly up to the corner of the cabinets, putting his back to them and listening to the other side. "Miranda?" He asked, "Is that you?" No reply. He gulped, taking his blade out of his sleeve and holding in the ready position. Automatically, he knew it was the shape shifter. He shook his head in the dark, seeing how clear it was to him now. It was a trap but he figured it out in time. He would get it before it got him. Suddenly, a figure stepped out of the dark before him. Sam lunged at the figure, slamming it against the wall and putting his knife against its throat. "I know what you are, bastard," he growled.

The figure shrugged off what Sam thought was tape recorder headphones. It clicked off a button, and swallowed against his blade. "What did you call me?" Miranda's familiar voice asked, genuinely confused. "And what is that your knife against my throat?"

Sam sighed in relief, taking back his dagger. He put it back into his pocket, letting her go. "Sorry about that. I, uh, thought you were someone else.." He explained awkwardly, going a bit weak in the knees a bit at how close of a call that was.

"Who in the world would you pull a knife on, Sam?" She asked, her voice slightly annoyed.

Sam smirked a bit. She had every right to be a bit peeved. He would never tell her any real information but somehow always get himself into positions were it would be a good time to tell her something, but obviously play it off like it never happened. There was no way you could play down slamming someone into a wall and putting a silver knife against their throat, thinking they were a shape shifter. "It's another one of those things," he told her regretfully.

Miranda laughed, "Whatever Sam. The important thing is you're here."

"I am," he agreed, nodding.

"I'm under a tight deadline and I can't finish my painting in time for grades. I called you over here to help me with it."

"On a Saturday?"

"Yes sir. Got a problem with that?" She asked playfully and with attitude, stepping closer to his face. Sam felt her breath against his lips and then soft pressure against his own. He kissed her back, closing his eyes even though he was in utter darkness. He felt her tender hands hug him around the middle, his own holding her face. Miranda pulled away, smiling in the black. "Still have a problem with it?"

Sam chuckled, "No."

"I thought so." She skipped off into the backroom that was the only part of the art room that was lit. He followed her in with a smile, blinking profusely to let his eyes adjust to the bright light. Miranda smirked over at him, holding a brush dipped in electric orange. "We're actually almost done."

He nodded once more, "It's going to look great when it's finished." Sam walked up it, feeling over the dried paint with his fingers. He furrowed his brow as he stroked the canvas. Miranda seemed different. She was normally very shy and it didn't seem like her to kiss him like that. He swallowed. Something was definitely off. Sam cleared his throat, looking over his shoulder at her. "Uh, where do you need me?"

Miranda thought for a moment, "I'll start you in the pinks but all my brushes are dirty."

"Alright. Let's go wash them." He swiped up the brushes, heading towards the sink room.

She followed him, smirking slightly. "You're not gonna get very far, Sam. The sink backed up an hour ago."

Sam stopped, chuckling and muttering under his breath. "This school is such a piece."

Miranda smiled, pushing some of his soft hair out of his eyes lingeringly. Her eyes twinkled when she said, "Then we'll just have to make due.. Come with me." She turned away from him, went through the heavy art room doors and down the corridor. She came to a dead end with an entryway to the left that had 'faculty only' taped to the threshold. Miranda pushed open the door, stepping down into the musty basement. Sam followed her cautiously, alert and observant.

She made her way down the creaky iron stairs, finally stepping onto cold concrete ground. All around were dripping pipes, molding walls, and skittering rats. Sam curled his lip up in disgust but continued, ducking under an enormous cement pipe that was about eight feet in circumference. Miranda led him through the maze, finally stopping into a damp boiler area. She turned a rusted wheel, the ancient faucet sputtering out water. Sam put the brushes under the water, the rainbow of liquid colors running through his fingers.

Miranda placed a gentle hand on the back of Sam's neck, stroking it in a way that made him uncomfortable.

"Miranda.." Sam started in a pained tone.

"Hush, Sammy.." She mused, "Let me enjoy this moment before I rip the meat off your bones.."

Sam grabbed his knife like the speed of light but he was too late. Miranda grinned wickedly, flashing white eyes instead of blue. She curled her hand into a fist, throwing it up into the air and coming down on his head. Sam fell conscious instantly, his body limp against the cruel concrete…


	10. Chapter 10

Sam woke up with a pounding headache that shot pain into the back of his eyes. He grimaced, trying to regain himself. He realized he was tied against a concrete pipe in the high school basement. Sam struggled, baring his teeth with effort. Suddenly, Miranda's laugh echoed through the damp underworld. Except it wasn't her laugh. It was something else entirely. He looked directly ahead, a pair of white shining eyes staring back at him out of the darkness.

"I knew it was you," Sam growled.

The shape shifter that was wearing Miranda's face and body cackled once more. "Sure you did lover boy.. I have to say, I expected more from John Winchester's spawn. Aren't you supposed to kill me? Not lead me right to you?" It mocked, twirling Sam's silver knife.

"What did you do with Miranda?!" He cried, struggling with his bonds.

"Oh you love to ruin my fun.. I wasn't done insulting you yet."

Sam hissed, "_Where is she?!" _

"Dead. Deceased. In better place. She kicked the bucket. Croaked. Met her maker. What would you prefer???"

Sam shook his head, "You're lying."

"Am I? Why would I lie about something like that?.." The shape shifter came out of the darkness, getting into his face. "I'm not ashamed of what I am.. Unlike you. Poor, scared, and angsty Sammy who was born into Daddy's crusade. Sammy who never got the crusts cut off his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. ."

Sam snarled, listening to the shape shifter. It was true but he'd be damned if he would let it get the best of him. Dean would come for him. When Miranda- _the shape shifter_- called him to come up to the school, Sam didn't leave a note. Dean would overreact and search the whole town. He would come.

"It's absolutely hilarious how pathetic you and Miranda are. Locked together in hatred, destinies intertwined while each family has a secret agenda, only finding comfort in one another. It's very Shakespeare of you two. In a needy, pathetic way might I add."

"Shut up. My brother will come for me and you'll be history."

"Ah, right. Dean.. That idiot."

"How do you know all of this??"

"Talent." She hissed, "And your Dad and Dean killed my husband in New Orleans."

Sam gulped, nodding. He remembered Dean mentioning this over the phone when Sam had called him out the first appearance of the shape shifter. He was silent, his jaw tense as its words sank in. Miranda was gone. She was killed probably like some poor, random bitch, stuffed into a vent or construction ditch. The sweet, kind and caring girl who had taken the time to ask him what his opinion was and what he wanted to do with his life instead of falling into the damned family business was slaughtered in cold blood. The shape shifter now wore her face like some sick serial killer who cut off its victim's identity. It smirked, watching Sam glare at it.

"Take a picture. It will last longer--"

"—Longer than you." A similar smart-ass voice said behind the shape shifter. It whipped around, facing Dean head on.

Dean smirked, "Miss me?"

He threw out a silver knife, plunging it down onto the shape shifter. It caught his wrist, arm quivering with Dean's strength working against it. The shape shifter growled, using its left fist to punch under Dean's jaw. Dean fell back and the monster fled of the stairs like a bat out of hell with full intention to bail. He hissed, spitting out blood and licking his busted lip as he ran to his brother.

Sam struggled, trying to get Dean away from him. "Go get it! I'll be fine!"

"Sam-"

"GO DEAN! NOW!"

Dean cursed under his breath, leaving his brother quickly but reluctantly. He flew up the rickety screeching stairs, turning a sharp corner, barging through the 'employees only' door. He narrowed his eyes at the far hall, catching the end of a shoe disappear behind the left wall. Dean took off after the shape shifter, pulling out a gun his father had trusted him with for emergencies. He clicked down the hammer while running, shooting at the monster's head. It ducked, taking a quick turn so the bullet just punctured a fire extinguisher, the liquid carbon dioxide spraying out. The fire alarm followed soon behind, screaming through the speakers. Dean growled, dashing after it in pursuit.

The shape shifter pushed open another door, sprinting up the stairs. Dean was close behind, taking another shot, aiming upward. The silver bullet brushed past it, making a hole in Miranda's coat. It didn't slow down the creature, knocking open the last door that led down into the maze of a basement. It raced down the open corridor, leaving its backside vulnerable to Dean who fired yet another blast. It grazed the shape shifter yet again as it turned left, slinking into the pitch dark art room. "Damnnit!" Dean cried, chasing after it.

Meanwhile in the basement, Sam continued to work on his bonds. The fire alarm blared in his ear obnoxiously even while he was in the damp underworld. The sweat that had collected on his forehead rolled down his face and into his eyes, stinging him. He grimaced, still working just as hard at the rope. Finally, he wriggled out, falling to his face and into a puddle. Sam hadn't expected that the shape shifter had tied him off of the ground. He caught Dean's dropped silver knife on the way out, running as fast as he could.

Suddenly, a blood curling _human _scream echoed through the halls. He froze in horror, his eyes wide and his stomach flying forward like it would leap out of his throat. She was alive. "MIRANDA!" Sam cried, taking off like a grenade was strapped to his ankle. The hallways, doors, and stairs were a blur as he ran to her rescue. _I knew you were still alive, Miranda. Please, please be okay, _Sam pleaded in his head, throwing open the heavy art door.

"Miranda!!" Sam yelled, looking around frantically.

"Sammy.." Dean's grim and trembling voice uttered from behind the cabinets.

A sinking feeling washed through Sam's body but he came nearer cautiously, turning the corner and seeing his most recent nightmare come to life… Dean was holding Miranda's limp, bloody body in his arms, looking down at her in guilt. Sam rushed forward, pushing Dean away viciously. "Oh God!" He gasped in disbelief, staring into Miranda's hurt eyes. The real Miranda.

She gulped, her skin deathly pale and tongue heavy. "W-w-why S-Sam?"

He shook his head, tears immediately falling from his eyes. "No, no, no. This is not supposed to happen!"

Her eyebrows curved up in anguish and pain, looking up at him, "S-so this is w-what you do, h-huh?"

"Miranda- I-I- This isn't supposed to happen!" He repeated, stroking her in heartbreak.

She moaned, "Tell m-my sister and Dad I-I lo—" Miranda let out a long, last breath, her fluttering eyes closing for the last time.

Sam shook her, "Miranda! NO! You can't leave! Not yet! Miranda!" He cried hysterically.

Dean shed a tear for his little brother's loss and his grave, grave mistake. He put a comforting hand on Sam's shaking shoulder, "We have to go Sammy," he said gently.

"You did this!" Sam fired, looking at his brother with venom. "YOU KILLED HER!"

"We have to go Sam! The fire trucks are coming and we will be charged with her murder! We. Need. To. Leave. Now!"

Sam pushed Dean off of him, "I'm not leaving!"

"Damn it- Sam! She's gone!"

"BECAUSE OF YOU!"

Inside, Dean's heart bled with pain and guilt. It was true. He had killed the real Miranda, thinking it was the shape shifter. God knows where it was now. The only good thing to come out of this situation was to get out without being seen or questioned. John Winchester would have their hides if he found out. Under no circumstances must he know. But first things first. He snarled, grabbing his Sam's coat collar and yanking him away. Sam fought him but Dean was an emotionless stone, escaping the only thing on his mind and keeping the pieces of him together.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam Winchester's eyes fluttered open slowly, noticing the surface change as John drove his way across a rougher highway. Sam looked up at the ebony Impala ceiling from the backseat, his head resting on Dean's duffel bag, using it as a pillow. The radio was barely playing but if he listened hard enough he could hear Aerosmith's Angel in the speakers. He shifted his head slightly, glancing at a sleeping Dean. He slouched in the front seat, his hands in his chestnut leather jacket pockets and chin leaning over towards his left shoulder.

Sam regulated his breathing expertly, wanting his father to continue to believe he was still asleep. John was must gentler when his boys were asleep, caressing their foreheads lightly and staring at their features, picking out of Dean and Sam what came from Mary or what came from him. John was allowed to love his sons like a father should when peacefully dreaming but the second he knew they were conscious, John was all business. Sam didn't want to talk or deal with the god-damned next monster, so pretending sleep was his best shot at it. Everything was the same as it was but worse because Sam was shown what he was missing. Miranda.

He gulped, turning his head to gaze out the opposite back seat window of the Impala. From his angle, all he could see was leaping street lights and power lights on black velvet. He furrowed his brow, remembering yesterday clearly. Sam had fallen into the shape shifter's trap like a fly to a spider's web. Miranda was his weak spot at the time and there really wasn't anything he wouldn't do for her. He should've been more aware though. Once he stopped and contemplated that had happened, he should've realized from the start that it wasn't Miranda. She was courteous about the time of day and respected people's plans. She would've never asked for his help on the painting on a Saturday night. If that wasn't warning enough, the kiss was a definite bingo.

What baffled him was how utterly fucked up it was that the real Miranda had shown up. It was inconceivable how the twist of events had allowed Dean to accidentally kill the wrong girl. Sam couldn't blame Dean though he wanted to more than anything. He needed something to direct his pain onto and Dean was the perfect target. He had killed Miranda after all. Sam did in fact hold Dean responsible at first just because it was easy. He knew Dean felt guilty as hell. Nothing bothered him more than losing an innocent person to a monster. It must be tearing him up inside to know he had made a mistake like this, Sam thought sensitively.

Miranda had a bright future. She was meant to go places. This was completely wrong, backwards and inside-out. She didn't deserve to die like some freak accident by some creature that shouldn't even exist. Maybe if Sam had told her what he did with his father and brother, maybe she might've had a chance. That thought alone brought a tear to his eye. No, it wasn't Dean's fault at all. It was his.

_You told me that I could always fix anything and everything happens for a reason. That there was always a simple solution to the most impossible situations. But tell me, how do I fix this? What is the reason for this?..._

_How do I fix you?… _

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**That's it folks! Thank you for all your views, reviews and support on this story! It's truly appreciated :) I might be coming up with some other Supernatural stories so if you're interested, stay tuned! Thanks again.**


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